PRAYER

1. Align the chairs properly.

2. Pick up the tiny pieces of paper under
your chair and throw it in the trash bin.
JUMBLE AND ROLL!
COMISUNIMMCANTIO
MISCOMMUNICATION
ALREIZONATI
REALIZATION
REARLQU
QUARREL
SUASME
ASSUME
THE NIGHT DRIVER
Italo Calvino
I climbed into the car suddenly, after a quarrel over the telephone
with Y. I live in A, Y lives in B. I wasn't planning to visit her this
evening. But during our daily phone call we said dire things to
each other; in the end, carried away by my exasperation, I told Y
that I wanted to break off our affair; Y answered that it didn't
matter to her and that she would immediately telephone Z, my
rival. At this point one of us -- I don't remember whether it was
she or I -- hung up. Before a minute had passed I realized the
motive of our quarrel was trifling compared to the consequences
it was creating. So here
I am on this superhighway I have driven over hundreds of times
at every hour in every season but which never seemed so long to
me before. Did she really mean to call Z or was it only a threat,
blurted out like that, out of pique? And if she was serious, did she
do it immediately after our telephone conversation, or is she
thinking it over for a moment, letting her anger subside before
she makes up her mind? Like me, Z lives in A; for years he has
loved Y hopelessly; if she has telephoned him and invited him
over, he has surely set out at top speed toward B in his car;
therefore he too is speeding along this superhighway; every car
that passes me could be his, as well as every car I pass.
As if that weren't enough, it's begun to rain. My field of vision is
reduced to the semicircle of glass swept by the windshield wiper, all
the rest is streaked or opaque darkness, the information I receive from
outside consists only of yellow and red flashes distorted by a tumult
of drops. The only thing I can do with Z is try to pass him and not let
him pass me, in whatever car he is, but I won't be able to know if he
is here and which car is his. I feel all the cars going in A's direction
are equally hostile: every car faster than mine that beats eagerly with
its flipper in my mirror asking me to give way causes me a pang of
jealousy; and every time I see ahead of me the distance diminish
between me and the rear lights of a rival, with an upsurge of triumph
I hurl myself into the center lane to reach Y before him.
I realize that in rushing toward Y, what I desire most is not to find Y at the
end of my race: I want Y to be racing toward me, this is the answer I need;
what I mean is, I want her to know I'm racing toward her but at the same
time I want to know she's racing toward me. The sole thought that
comforts me is also the thought that torments me most: the thought that if
Y at this moment is speeding toward A, then each time she sees the
headlights of a car speeding toward B she will ask herself whether it's I
racing toward her, and she will desire it to be I, and she will never be sure.
What counts is communicating the indispensable, skipping all the
superfluous, reducing ourselves to essential communication, to a luminous
signal that moves in a given direction, abolishing the complexity of our
personalities and situations and facial expressions, leaving them in the
shadowy container that the headlights carry behind them and conceal.
Halfway along the superhighway there is a service station. I stop, I run to
the bar, I get a handful of change, I dial the B area code, then Y's number.
No answer. I allow the rain of returned coins to pour down with joy: it's
clear Y couldn't overcome her impatience, she got into her car, she has
rushed toward A. Now I have gone back to the superhighway, but on the
other side: I too am rushing toward A. All the cars I pass could be Y, or
else all the cars that pass me. On the opposite lane all the cars advancing
in the other direction could be Z, in his self-delusion. Or else Y too has
stopped at a service station, has telephoned my house in A; not finding
me in she has realized I am going to B, she has turned around. Now we
are speeding in opposite directions, moving away from each other, and
the car I pass or that passes me is Z, who also tried telephoning Y at the
halfway point.
Everything is more uncertain than ever but I feel I've now reached a state
of inner serenity: as long as we can check our telephone numbers and
there is no answer then we will continue, all three of us, speeding back
and forth along these white lines, with no points of departure or of arrival
to threaten with their sensations and meanings the single-mindedness of
our race, freed finally from the awkward thickness of our persons and
voices and moods, reduced to luminous signals, the only appropriate way
of being for those who wish to be identified with what they say, without
the distorting buzz our presence or the presence of others transmits to our
messages. To be sure, the price paid is high but we must accept it: to be
indistinguishable from all the other signals that pass along this road, each
with his meaning that remains hidden and undecipherable because outside
of here there is no one capable of receiving us now and understanding us.
ACTIVITY TIME!
CRITERIA:
Organization of Sentences – 5 points
Cooperation – 10 points
Total: 15 points
Directions: Identify the name/concept/idea given below:

 1. What is the name of the man who translated Night Driver in English language?

2. What is the name of the narrator’s rival in the story?

3. The name of the book with a collection of short stories.

4. The Night Driver is about the struggles of human relations and technology in?

5. What is the name of the narrator’s girlfriend in the story?

ASSIGNMENT
Illustrate the ending of the short story
“Night Driver”. Draw it in a short
bond paper.
You can decided whether to use
colors or not.
THANK YOU, CLASS!